


Lap Full of Schoolboy

by laineymaid



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, But if that squicks you out..., Dirty Talk, I mean he's seventeen, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, Underage Character(s), Which is age of consent where I live
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 14:25:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1269793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laineymaid/pseuds/laineymaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...it took every bit of Courfeyrac's willpower to stop himself from slamming Combeferre against his desk and fucking him immediately. But Combeferre wanted a spanking, and if Courfeyrac was going to wildly abuse his position of power and have morally ambiguous sex with a student, he could at least give him what he asked for."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Okay, so Combeferre might have had ulterior motives when he talked Mr. Courfeyrac into giving him detention instead of Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lap Full of Schoolboy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kink meme prompt:
> 
> "I want a teacher/student situation with Courfeyrac as teacher and Combeferre his student. Maybe Combeferre takes the fall for something, knowing that Enjolras can't get another detention. Either way, him and Courfeyrac alone in detention. Somehow, sex occurs."

Between sixth and ninth grade, Enjolras had been expelled from four different private schools. When he'd started at St. Thomas Academy, his parents had informed him that he was precisely one expulsion away from military school. By the end of fourth period he was mourning the loss of his long hair and wondering whether he needed to be more worried about the abuse of the staff or the students at military school. In fifth period he met Combeferre, and everything changed.

 

That wasn't to say that Enjolras stopped getting into trouble. Much to the chagrin of the administration of St. Thomas Academy, Enjolras spent his sophomore and junior year asking troubling questions, writing inflammatory essays, and protesting a variety of causes that many of the staff members honestly didn't even understand. His school records were littered with failed grades, detentions and suspensions just shy of cause for expulsion. Although Combeferre was Enjolras' closest companion, his records were pristine. His passion burned just as hot as Enjolras'; he was just better at biding his time. They would make a bigger difference in the long run, he reasoned, if they managed not to get themselves expelled now.

 

The teaching staff of St. Thomas was composed almost entirely of conservative old men, who generally regarded Enjolras and his 'violence tinged leftist leanings' as a nuisance and punished him with rather more relish than was entirely necessary. The notable exception to this rule arrived rather abruptly at the beginning of their senior year in the form of Mr. Courfeyrac, a young teacher, he was vivacious and even progressive and seemed to reprimand Enjolras more out of a desire to keep his job than anything else. To Enjolras’ delighted surprise, he would even accept his input without objection as long as he raised his hand and didn't swear. In fact, to all appearances he was rather fond of Enjolras, and even more so of Combeferre, who frequently got his essays back with long notes at the end, praising his logic and posing new questions, suggesting new sources to cite and books he might enjoy.

 

Still, despite his obvious soft spot for the pair, Mr. Courfeyrac was a school employee, so when Enjolras interrupted his lecture for a third time, loudly with an unrelated outburst about the rights of undocumented workers, Courfeyrac sighed. “Mr. Enjolras, if you can’t focus on history during class time, you are going to have to devote time to it outside of class. Detention after school today. Expect to be here until six.”

 

Enjolras looked about to protest, probably something about the relevance of current events and the importance of historical context, when Combeferre spoke up from his right. “It was my fault, Mr. Courfeyrac,” he said, looking up from his notebook to fix Courfeyrac with his unnaturally perceptive gaze, which never failed to send a shiver of want up Courfeyrac’s spine, and a stab of self-loathing into his stomach. “I was distracting him, pointing out parallels.”

 

It was an obvious ploy. He’d been hearing rumors about Enjolras in the staff lounge lately, discussions of how close he was to long-term academic suspension. Ordinarily, he would have been grateful for the opportunity to let Enjolras off the hook. On the other hand, the prospect of two hours alone with Combeferre after school was tempting in all the wrong ways, and he wasn’t entirely sure he trusted himself to get through it without popping an incredibly inappropriate boner and ultimately getting himself fired. Combeferre was still looking at him, gaze softened and a little pleading, and when he honest to god batted his lashes Courfeyrac reluctantly came to terms with the fact that he couldn’t deny the boy anything.

 

“Fine,” he said, and Combeferre gave him an almost imperceptible smile. “Mr. Enjolras, please try to focus on me in the future. Mr. Combeferre, I will see you after school.”

 

The remainder of class passed in a blur of lecturing and trying desperately not to panic about having to spend two hours of detention alone with Combeferre, which really sounded more like the set up of a terrible porn film or one of his incredibly sick wet dreams than anything else. By the end of the class he was certain he’d panicked himself into a delusional state, because there was absolutely no way that Combeferre had winked at him as he sauntered out of the classroom, swinging his hips just enough to show off his ass.

 

His seventh hour passed in a similar fashion, though all the freshmen seemed too anxious for the school day to end to notice anything was wrong. Four o’clock crept slowly but inexorably nearer until suddenly his class was filing out the door. He took a deep breath and turned to his filing cabinet to put papers away and collect himself for the trial of the next two hours. He had his back to the door when the knock came.

 

“Come in,” he called, and he heard the door open and Combeferre step in quietly. The door closed, and then another sound—the lock clicking into place. He turned around and Combeferre was rolling the blind down over the window in the door. His tie was askew and his hair was just a little disheveled, and oh God, Courfeyrac was pretty sure he had had this exact fantasy. His face flushed as his mind filled with images of how that particular dream had ended, Combeferre pressing him up against his own desk and then dropping down to his knees and taking Courfeyrac’s desperate cock into his mouth, his clever tongue teasing and dragging. He’d put Courfeyrac’s hands in his hair and leaned back on his heels to demand that Courfeyrac fuck his mouth.

 

Courfeyrac blinked away the images and when he opened his eyes Combeferre had crossed the classroom and was standing no more than a foot away from him, studying the flush across his cheeks intently. Courfeyrac was so surprised that when Combeferre took a final step forward, leaving their bodies only inches apart, his only response was a sharp breath in. Combeferre smiled at that, equal parts pleased and hungry, and used his advantage to guide Courfeyrac backwards the few feet to his chair and push him down.

 

"I think," said Combeferre, measured and deep, and Christ almighty where had a teenager developed a voice with that authoritative bite to it Courfeyrac wondered, even as his cock responded to it, and fucking hell he was getting hard because a teenager was bossing him around. Courfeyrac was still deciding whether he was more mortified or horrified when Combeferre went on, "I think, that you're going to be a little more lenient with Enjolras in the future, sir." He drew the last word out, teasing and smirking as he ran his long fingers up Courfeyrac's thighs and left them there, heavy and hot and present.

 

"Firstly," he continued, voice low and coaxing, "because I think you want to, I think you know he's right." He was very, very close now, lips moving against Courfeyrac's ear as his glasses pressed into his cheek. "Secondly, because this school is full of the kind of fucked up--" Courfeyrac shuddered a little when Combeferre swore, and cursed his body for choosing the most inappropriate time possible to reveal how much it turned him on. He could feel Combeferre's self-satisfied smile against his ear as he continued. "--discrimination Enjolras is fighting against, and I doubt they'd let a homosexual teach impressionable schoolboys.” He nipped at Courfeyrac’s ear, cheekily, perhaps to remind him that he had a lap full of schoolboy, as if he could possibly have forgotten. Courfeyrac tried to speak, tried to find the words to get Combeferre out of his classroom and tucked back into fantasies he wouldn’t let himself jerk off to--the ones he woke up from sticky and disgusted, but he couldn’t. He opened his mouth to form words and all he could do was pant. Combeferre didn’t let up. “They could fire you for that, you know. There's no state law against it. They could fire you for it even if you hadn't come on to a student."

 

"I didn't--" Courfeyrac finally found his words, only to cut himself off in a strangled moan as the hand on his thigh slid up to press lightly on his straining cock. Combeferre drew back to regard him intently, green eyes, magnified behind thick-rimmed glasses, suddenly wide and round with feigned innocence.

 

"Oh, but you did," he said, very earnestly. "Because no one is ever going to believe you. Combeferre would never!" He batted his eyes, innocent and calculated and seductive all at once. “He’s always keeping Enjolras out of trouble, he certainly wouldn’t go and do something like that, wouldn’t crawl into his teacher’s lap and offer to suck him off.” And then Combeferre was on top of him, hips pressed up against his, straddling him on the chair. “Would you like that?” he breathed, and Courfeyrac had just enough self-control left to gasp out, “No! No…”

 

Combeferre froze, startled, and Courfeyrac doubted he was going to have another chance to speak, so he pressed on desperately, “Really Mr. Combeferre, this is incredibly inappropriate, and I’m going to have to—“

 

Combeferre stopped him with a firm roll of his hips. “Is that why you’re so hard?” he asked, composure regained. “I’d take my blazer and tie off, if you wanted, so you could forget how young I am, but I think you like it.” He punctuated the accusation with a second grind of hips. “I think you like how young and pure it makes me look, how chaste. It just makes you want to debauch me more, doesn’t it?” He pulled back again to study Courfeyrac’s face. “Do you want to fuck me, Mr. Courfeyrac?” he asked, all innocent eyes again. “I’d let you. Right here on your desk. You’d shove my khakis down, leave my uniform on, leave my tie fastened so you could pull me where you want me, spread my legs and fuck me hard enough to leave marks.”

 

“I need—” Courfeyrac breathed, but he still hadn’t decided whether he was going to beg him to get off or go on when Combeferre interrupted.

 

“I’d want you to leave marks, want you to make it hurt.” Combeferre didn’t miss the quiet whine at that. “Do you want to hurt me?” He grinned, predatory. “Do you want to spank me?” Another whine. “I deserve it. I am being extremely naughty. You should take me over your lap and make me squirm.” He wriggled against Courfeyrac’s lap, to demonstrate just how appealingly he could squirm. “I’d beg for it. Beg for your hand or your ruler, beg for you to spank me so hard I’d feel it in class the next day—spend the whole class fidgeting in my seat. Would that turn you on, Mr. Courfeyrac? Would that get you hard in the middle of sixth period?”

 

The mention of classes brought Courfeyrac back to his senses. Combeferre was in his classes. Combeferre was seventeen-years-old. Combeferre was a high school student. Combeferre needed to get out of his classroom right away before things got any worse. “Stop,” he said, hoping to sound commanding, but instead it just came out desperate. To his surprise, Combeferre complied, even went so far as to get up off his lap, and then looked down at him steadily. “What’s wrong?” he asked, no trace of seduction or faux innocence left, just plain, honest Combeferre.

 

“You’ve made your point,” said Courfeyrac, staring up at him wildly, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “You have what you need, okay? Absolutely, I will be more lenient with Enjolras, just please, stop. Stop this. I’m so, so sorry, and I feel guilty as hell about it as it is and...Just don’t do this, okay? Just walk out now and we’ll just pretend everything is normal on Monday, that I’m not a creepy pervert lusting after his seventeen-year-old student. Hell, get me fired if you want. Heaven knows I probably deserve it, just don’t do this to me, okay? Please?” He trailed off as he realized Combeferre was laughing. Quietly, almost soundlessly chuckling to himself. He couldn’t bring himself to be upset, he hated himself so much a little scorn from Combeferre was nothing.

 

Suddenly, the predatory smile was back on Combeferre’s face. “You actually think I’m doing this for Enjolras, don’t you?” he asked, deadpan. Courfeyrac looked back at him, utterly lost.

 

“You said…” he trailed off as Combeferre lowered himself onto his lap again.

 

“I took the detention for Enjolras,” Combeferre said, very slowly, as though he were explaining something to a dense child. “I talked to you for Enjolras,” he paused here to make sure Courfeyrac was paying attention before he went on, “I climbed into your lap and begged for your cock because I want you to fuck me,” he said, like it was the most rational thing in the world.

 

Courfeyrac looked at him like he’d suddenly sprouted a second head. Combeferre growled, and Christ, that was just unfair. His cock jumped to full attention in his trousers, and then Combeferre's hand was in his hair and shifting Courfeyrac's gaze up to meet his own. "Mr. Courfeyrac, listen to me," he demanded, slow and deliberate. "We can talk all about the nuances of how inappropriate and morally ambiguous this whole situation is later if it will make you feel better, but right now I need you to understand that I'm doing this because I want you to ignore your over-worked moral code, throw me down on your desk, and do unspeakable things to me."

 

Courfayrac's uncertainty must have been written all over his face, because Combeferre kept reasoning with him, even as he slid his other hand up Courfeyrac's thigh, fingers splayed. "I'm not a child, Mr. Courfeyrac. I am fully informed, and enthusiastically consenting, and I think we can agree that the position of authority you're in is more than balanced out by the fact that I am blackmailing you." He twisted his fingers a little tighter in Courfeyrac's hair, and then let go and stood up, smirking when Courfeyrac made a needy little noise at the loss of contact, so desperate to have Combeferre's hands back on him that he just obliged dumbly as Combeferre nudged his legs apart and sank to his knees before looking up at to meet Courfeyrac's gaze, eyes wicked beneath thick lashes.

 

"I know you want me." His voice was like velvet, and his hands were back on Courfeyrac's thighs, and Courfeyrac was spellbound as he continued. "Don't try to deny it, sir. You stare at me in class--at my hands.” Courfeyrac's breath hitched as Combeferre's right hand moved to his aching cock and stayed there, pressing light, teasing.

 

"At my lips," he said, and licked them agonizingly slow, before biting his full lower lip and letting his teeth drag over it, swelling it ever so slightly. "At my ass." He kneeled up and arched his spine to give Courfeyrac a better view. "Sometimes, on my way out of class, I drop my pens, just to see the flush on your face when I bend over to pick them up." He grinned cheekily as Courfeyrac groaned and thrust his hips up to rub himself against his palm.

 

"Which really," he said through a genuine smile, eyes crinkling at the corners, "was awfully forward of me. In fact, I think I've proven, beyond all reasonable doubt, that I'm a desperate, shameless, brazen hussy of a schoolboy, and I definitely need to be punished, so for Christ’s sake would you please just spank me already?" Despite his words, every trace of seduction had vanished from his voice, and what remained was pure Combeferre, logical and concise and just a tinge exasperated, and Courfeyrac couldn't resist anymore. Before he knew what he was doing his hand was wrapped around Combeferre's tie and yanking him into a desperate kiss, pulse racing as Combeferre groaned into his mouth and mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like 'finally.'

 

"Pants off," Courfeyrac demanded when they finally broke apart.

 

"That's more like it." Combeferre smile grew even wider as he unzipped his khakis and shoved them down with his boxers in one quick motion. Courfeyrac hauled him to his feet by his tie. He manhandled him up and over his knees and was rewarded with a startled squeak, and then a low groan when Combeferre's swollen cock met the friction of his thigh. He took the opportunity to run a hand up the pale expanse of Combeferre's long leg, teasing between the plump cheeks of his ass--freezing when his fingers met the sticky feel of lube around Combeferre's entrance. "Christ," he breathed out, overwhelmed because holy shit Combeferre had opened himself for this, had probably fucked himself on his fingers in the boys bathroom during seventh period, hurried and a little too rough before rushing back to class, slick and open. "Well someone was confident." He laughed, rubbing a teasing finger across the tight hole.

 

Combeferre whimpered. "Didn't want to waste time. Wanted your cock in me as soon as possible. Didn't want to wait. Still don't," he said. He rubbed against Courfeyrac's thigh to prove his point, and it took every bit of Courfeyrac's willpower to stop himself from slamming Combeferre against his desk and fucking him immediately. But Combeferre wanted a spanking, and if Courfeyrac was going to wildly abuse his position of power and have morally ambiguous sex with a student, he could at least give him what he asked for.

 

"You're going to get ten strokes. Heaven knows it's less than you deserve, but you're such a needy thing I won't make you wait too long."

 

Combeferre huffed out a laugh.

 

"Oh sure, I'm the one only one who can't wait." He wriggled pointedly against Courfeyrac's cock at his hip, and then yelped in surprise when a hand came down hard on his ass. The second slap was met with and undignified gasp, and then a whimper, and then a groan and by the sixth stroke Combeferre was moaning shamelessly and rutting against his leg, aching for friction.

 

And then, because Combeferre was clearly sent straight from hell to tempt him into sin, the body in his lap twisted around as Combeferre turned his head and panted, "Harder."

 

Seven.

 

"Harder, god want to feel this in class tomorrow--" he broke off, moaning as eight came down hard enough to leave Courfeyrac's hand stinging.

 

"Want to remember your hands on my ass when you look at me."

 

Nine was soft, but he let it linger, teasing over the abused skin and relishing the shuddering sighs he could feel against his thigh before bringing ten down as hard as he could, just low enough to brush Combeferre's balls and Combeferre honest to god screamed and then sighed and went totally limp. There was a moment of panic, had he gone too far? And then Combeferre was out of his lap with his pants back up near his waist, and just as quickly back between his knees and unfastening his belt, looking up at him.

 

"You need to fuck me right now." Courfeyrac was about to protest--he hadn't been expecting this, didn't have a condom, didn't have lube--when Combeferre pulled both out of the front pocket of his khakis.

 

“I was a Boy Scout.” He said, mock serious. “I’m always prepared. Now, where do you want me?"

 

Dozens of scenarios flashed through his mind, before he settled on, "Over my desk. Trousers down around your ankles, because you're too impatient to get them all the way off, aren't you?"

 

But Combeferre was barely listening, had already gotten to his feet and spread himself over the desk, looking utterly at home there, legs spread as much as his pants would allow, fingers drumming the surface, expectant. Courfeyrac admired the view--Combeferre's lanky body laid out for him, back arched to push his reddened ass enticingly into the air.

 

"Gorgeous," he breathed, taking the opportunity run his hands up Combeferre's sides, from the flushed swell of his ass to the tight peaks of his nipples and back down again, resting one on the enflamed skin while he reached for the lube Combeferre had left on the desk with the other.

 

Combeferre shivered under the attention and canted his hips uselessly until a finger pressed into him, slick and just a little cold, slid in easily, and it was good, but not enough, not the slam of firm hips against his aching ass.

 

"I didn't spend half my seventh period lecture in the toilets with my own fingers up my ass so that you could go slow with me. I'm ready, and I want you in me now," he said, his tone a mixture of commanding and desperate that Courfeyrac suspected only Combeferre could achieve.

 

Suddenly the finger was gone, and Combeferre whined, but then there was the sound of the condom opening followed by the click of the lube and soon he could feel a hand hot on his hip and the hard press of a cock at his opening and finally, finally, Courfeyrac was pressing into him and chiding, "You're awfully demanding for someone who just begged to be disciplined. Didn't anyone ever teach you that patience is a virtue?"

 

Combeferre moaned his agreement, unable to speak. He'd done a good job of preparing himself, but Courfeyrac was big, and was sinking in torturously slow. Just when Combeferre was ready to start begging he felt the solid press of hips and a hand on his weeping cock. The hand on his hip squeezed harder, keeping him from moving, from getting any closer to release.

 

"Move," he whined, too far gone to care how needy he sounded, but Courfeyrac just move the hand from his hip to his hair and pulled, forcing him to arch his back even further.

 

"Ask nicely."

 

Combeferre huffed, startled, but complied readily.

 

"Please, sir. Please move. Need to feel you in me, need you to claim me, please--" he broke off as Courfeyrac gave in, pulling out and slamming back in again, pounding against Combeferre's developing bruises and jerking him off roughly. They'd both been on edge too long to hold out for any significant amount of time, and between the slide of a cock against his prostate, the ache of flesh against his ass and the squeeze of hands on his cock and in his hair, it was a matter of minutes before Combeferre came with a cry, the clench of his release sending Courfeyrac over the edge only moments later.

 

They lay there, sprawled over the desk and panting, until the shift of Combeferre's hips beneath him brought Courfeyrac back to his senses. He pulled out, a little dazed, and scrambled to pull his pants up before collapsing into his chair and trying not to think too hard about what he’d just done.

 

Combeferre, in contrast, rolled off the desk lazily, and put himself back together slowly, straightening his tie and fixing his hair as best he could. He readjusted his glasses before checking his watch.

 

He looked down at Courfeyrac and smiled, sweet and understanding--comforting even. Courfeyrac smiled back, and the student's smile broadened into a grin, deviousness flickering into his eyes.

 

"Well," he said, chuckling a little to himself, "it's not six o'clock yet, but I think I'll head home if it's all the same to you, sir."

 

Courfeyrac opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by a mouth full of Combeferre's tongue. The kiss was hard and dirty--Combeferre's hand tugging in his hair as he bit at his mouth, and Courfeyrac’s cock stirred halfheartedly in his trousers in spite of his growing refractory period.

 

It was over as quickly as it had begun, Combeferre pulling away, and reaching into his pocket yet again, this time to pull out a scrap of paper, which he tucked into Courfeyrac's trouser pocket, the grin back in place.

 

"That's my number, call me when you start to freak out," he said, and then he grabbed his backpack and all but sauntered out of the room, swaying his hips just a little.

 

Twenty minutes later, Combeferre was on the city bus home when an unknown number flashed up on his phone. He didn't even try to keep the delight out of his voice when he spoke.

 

"Missing me already, Mr. Courfeyrac?"

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr? 
> 
>  
> 
> [talk to me and i'll love you forever](http://miserablefuckinglesbians.tumblr.com)


End file.
